The Bastard Prince and the Alley Mouse
by Axia West
Summary: Ava Tabris is keeping a painful secret. It's time to clear the air and give Alistair the honesty he deserves. Just a bit of fluff and a conversation I think was skimmed over in the game.


**The Bastard Prince and the Alley Mouse**

**Disclaimer**: Please do not publish this elsewhere. These are not my characters - they belong to Bioware and EA. I'm just borrowing them for a bit of silly fun…

Oh this was going to be an awkward conversation - a long, tense, no-good, very bad conversation. But it had to be done. Ava had put it off long enough, and now it was time to come clean.

She had started this talk many times in her head. Sometimes it went well, ending in a relieved fit of giggles that soon led to commiseration and hugging and perhaps even more intimate comforts. Other times, when she rehearsed the speech, it ended only in tears. But he had to know. It was part of her, no matter how hard she wanted to divorce herself from her past, it simply couldn't be done. Maybe he would show mercy, understanding… But she dreaded disgust, and she dreaded his pity even more.

What had she told him after his confession? There they had stood, apart from the others, lingering outside the gates of Redcliffe Village at his insistence. The truth came out. He was a bastard prince, and some might say the rightful heir to the throne. That's right, she had said: "The lies we tell ourselves are the worst betrayals of all."

Her own words, which sounded so wise at the time, fell flat to her own ears. Her stupid, pointed ears.

Ava flinched in the darkness where no one could see her. She stood outside Alistair's canvas tent, worrying the Grey Warden pendant around her neck. They were supposed to be washing up and preparing to attend a modest celebration at the Dalish encampment. Lanaya, the new Keeper, wanted to show the Warden and her companions some hospitality before the long trek back to Redcliffe. Ava glanced up at the sky through the trees. Even the air and the leaves seemed to be filled with laughter. Perhaps the beauty of the forest had finally convinced Ava it was time to confront the Big Bad Secret she had been hiding for far too long.

Or maybe it was Leliana. The Orlesian Bard was full of good advice. Ava had come to view her like a sister, a kindred spirit. They couldn't have been more different physically – Leliana with her rich red-gold hair and statuesque height towered over the much smaller Ava, who, for hygiene's sake, wore her hair shaved close to the head.

"He _loves_ you," Leliana had said, her jewel-toned accent hugging the word love like it could be held and touched. "If a man can love a woman as stubborn, terrifying and… _Shorn_ as you, then no secret will drive him away."

Leliana had tried, and failed, to convince Ava to grow out her hair many times. Ava got the impression Leliana desperately wanted more girly-girl time, and Morrigan was not a strong candidate. Ava had to admit, the forest, with its mysteries and its sweet, fragrant breezes did make her feel more feminine.

"I hope you're right," Ava had replied. "It's just… This precipice. I feel it approaching. Any secrets between us could destroy everything. I never meant to lie to him but keeping it to myself… I know it's wrong."

"Precipice?" Leliana said with a flittering laugh. "Is that what we're calling it now?"

"I mean the Blight, not… _That_."

"You can say sex, you know. I may have joined the Chantry but I'm no fool when it comes to temptations." Leliana didn't strike her as much of a temptress. If Morrigan gave this speech it would've felt more in line with Ava's opinions. But Leliana went on anyway. "But I can see why you would hesitate to commit yourself to him fully, when part of your past is still tucked away. Be straightforward. If he is a many of quality he will be glad for your honesty."

"Perhaps," Ava replied with a shrug, "I don't even like admitting it to myself. Sometimes I think I should hate humans more than I do. I suffered so much at their hands, endured such humiliation… Then I meet Alistair and Duncan, and I meet you, and those indignities seem far away."

"Far away, yes," Leliana said, placing a warm hand on Ava's shoulder. "But it is said that there is a glimmer of light in even the darkest shadows, which I believe, but I also believe that there is always the threat of rain, no matter how distant, on the brightest of days."

"Meaning, if I keep mum about this and he finds out some other way… Yeah," Ava sighed. "I have to come clean."

"Perhaps that is more apt than you think," Leliana said with another giggle. This time she squeezed Ava's shoulder. "The truth has a way of cleansing the spirit, making us feel new."

"See? This is what I'm always trying to explain to you," Ava said. They had been conversing on a large, felled tree. Ava hopped down. "Cleanliness is next to godliness." She ran a hand over her lightly stubbled head. "Blood comes out," she snapped her fingers, "Just like that."

"I renounce you as a friend," Leliana said theatrically, pushing Ava away with her feet. "And as a woman!"

"Alas," Ava replied, "I'd never make much of an Orlesian."

"Ha! We wouldn't have you! Now go, you're stalling."

"Yes, I am."

"By the Maker! Go!"

Ava nodded, dodging another swift kick from the lovely lady-bard. She turned away with a smile and a lightness in her heart, but it quickly ebbed when she actually found herself outside Alistair's tent. They were due to join the Dalish around their central campfire, but Ava knew this couldn't wait any longer. _You're being an idiot_, she reminded herself, _suck it up._

So there she was. The tent just in front of her, a sweaty pendant in her grasp… _Maker preserve me_, she thought, deciding that a bit of religion couldn't hurt.

Ava reached out to peel back the tent flap but stumbled back, overcome by a shadow. A shape had emerged from the tent, a shape she was becoming increasingly familiar with. She looked up, and then up some more.

"Alistair!" she squealed.

"Spying, are we? You're spending too much time with that Orlesian."

She felt her breath catch despite herself. Ava had never mooned much over men in the Alienage, perhaps a harmless crush here and there, but there was something warm and all-encompassing in Alistair's eyes that consistently turned her into a gibbering idiot.

"Hardly," Ava said, recovering quickly. "It's just that Zevran's rubbing off on me."

That did it. She had found her footing and now Alistair was on the defensive. One fawn-colored eyebrow lifted. Ava had been introduced to this look almost immediately upon meeting Alistair at Ostigar. She had indicated an eager interest in watching him flail about in a dress, and his response had come equipped with the signature eyebrow raise.

"If that swamp donkey rubs off on anything it'll be my boot," Alistair replied.

"You might want to rephrase that."

He paused, now both eyebrows were in the air. She saw the gears click into place. _Oh_, his face seemed to say_, rubs off, right. Ew._

"Cute deflection, by the way," Alistair rejoined smoothly. "I see that little sidestepping you did there to avoid my question. Maybe you really are turning into a sodding spy."

"I wasn't spying," Ava replied. Again, she was smiling, but now that smile had to fade. "I, um, well I thought we could have a talk."

"A _talk_? Goodness, you're giving me the trembles. More ominous words were never spoken."

"I'm nervous enough as it is, Alistair," Ava muttered, "But thanks for making it that much worse."

"Hey, hey," he murmured, dropping all pretense of smugness. His enormous hands gripped her by the shoulders. Ava had two choices – stare him in the eyes or study the grooves on his boots. She would certainly ignore the warmth of his hands seeping through her tunic. She had come with a purpose, to speak plainly, not to let another chat devolve into kissing.

"Nice boots," she said suddenly. "I don't think I've ever seen you in non-killing garb."

"Why thank you," he said. "You also look nice. And again, there, with the sidestepping."

"Right," Ava said, determined to get it right this time. "Let's duck inside for a second."

Alistair followed her into the tent, allowing her space. She needed it. Whenever he got too near, whenever he used his considerable size to tower over her, Ava tended to crumble. She could fell ogres and darkspawn without putting a hitch in her step. She swung maces and swords with the ease of a born and bred mercenary, but confessing one horrifying stain on her past made her quail. _They're just memories_, she thought, _they only hold power over you if you let them._

"Wow. You're really upset about something," Alistair observed slowly, his arms folding over his chest. "Come on, it can't be that bad. Maker, the suspense is killing me."

"You know how you have that whole royal bastard thing going for you?"

"I wouldn't say it's 'going' for me, it's sort of working against me, actually."

"Anyway, I have something like that, too," Ava murmured. Well, there was part one. Now to keep up that momentum…

"No kidding? You mean I wasn't just imagining that boulder-sized chip on your shoulder?"

"Laugh if you want to," Ava said_. Oh Maker, defensive already_. She set her jaw against another snipe.

"No, no, I'm not laughing," Alistair said, truthfully. He held up his hands as if in placation. "Go on."

Ava, if she was put at sword-point, would have to admit that _that_ tone of voice really did her in. The way he said "go on" as if he had nothing but understanding and love at the ready for her… Had anyone ever treated her with such kindness, such deference?

She picked at the edge of her tunic's sleeve, then stopped, paranoid, remembering that Leliana promised messy vengeance if she ruined the lovely weave of the Orlesian shirt-dress. "It feels like this happened an age ago," Ava began, "And perhaps it did. Perhaps I'm another person altogether now. But it was really only a few months ago, just before Duncan brought me to Ostigar..."

Just the mere mention of Duncan's name gave the conversation some much-needed solemnity.

"Alright," Alistair said. That was good of him. It gave her a little nudge.

"Did he… Tell you anything about my circumstances?"

"Other than that you had come from the Alienage? Not really. I mean, he mentioned a bit of a dust up, something with an Arl, but he didn't go into specifics." He stopped, laughing softly. "I would've pressed him for more, but at the time I had no idea just how… Well, just how important to me you would become."

Ava blushed – charmingly, she hoped - and looked at the ground again. She felt like a jerk, insisting on keeping the conversation dark when Alistair so plainly wanted to be carefree and flirtatious. Surrounded by death and darkness, and all she wanted to do was instigate more misery. _Later_, she promised herself, _we can flirt later_. _If he will still look me in the eye that is…_

"Yes, well, 'dust up' is a mild way to put it," Ava said quickly. She pushed at imaginary wrinkles in the tunic. "The truth is that… I was betrothed."

"Say again?"

"I was betrothed, Alistair." She winced. Saying it twice was doubly painful. She hurried on. "I had never even met the man before. That's how things work in the Alienage. It's about survival, not romance, so I didn't have much of a choice. Maybe it's… Well, I'm not _grateful_ for the Blight, that sounds completely wrong. But without it I would've been forced into marrying someone I hardly knew, someone I had never even _seen_."

"I take it the marriage wasn't actually performed?" Alistair asked. She didn't miss the hint of desperation in his voice.

"Oh Maker, no," Ava said, chuckling nervously. "No, of course not. But my friend and I were taken by the Arl's son. He… Well, he wanted to… Sod it, why is this so hard to say?"

"I think I get the picture."

"No, Alistair, I don't think you do. It was my wedding day, my cousin's wedding day, and a group of us women were imprisoned. My _cousin's_ betrothed died. And _my_ betrothed died trying to rescue us." Ava sighed. So that was most of it. She hadn't been struck by lightning and Alistair hadn't vomited on his shoes, all positive things. "I didn't even know this man, but… That's what growing up in an Alienage does to you. It's inhuman. If things were different he would've just saved himself. Instead, he risked his life to a help a woman he had met only half an hour earlier."

"But you do that all the time," Alistair said bluntly. "_We_ do that all the time."

"Sure," Ava said. "But you'll notice we're still alive. He isn't."

"Yes, there is that."

A hard, frosty silence fell. Ava couldn't bring herself to tear her eyes away from the rushes on the ground. Her mouth had gone bone dry. If she could've turned into a speck of dust and floated out into the night she would've done so, happily.

"But I thought… You said that you had never…"

"Fried a pickled yam?" Ava finished. She forced a smile. This was one of their favorite games to play on the road – coming up with a treasure trove of euphemisms for intercourse. It made Morrigan irritated to the point of total hilarity.

"I was going to say danced an Orlesian reel," Alistair replied. He too tried to smile, but it didn't last long. That tone of voice she loved and dreaded returned. "Ava, did they hurt you?"

"It was close," Ava said. Her voice sounded choked and feeble even to her own ears. "They hurt my best friend." A pause, silence. Suddenly, she was furious. "_Hurt_?" she spat. Ava threw up her arms. She was pacing now and couldn't stop herself. "Hurt? They didn't _hurt_ her." She balled her hands up into fists and smacked herself on the side of the head with one of them. Alistair stared.

"They raped her. They raped her! They raped her."

She was on the ground then. How did that happen? She had been saving up her rage for so long… Even taking it out on those bastards that hurt Shianni hadn't spent her fury. She should've done more, killed more, found some form of revenge that really got to the heart of such injustice. But what could be done?

"There," Ava whispered, feeling pathetic. Grey Wardens didn't cry. Was she crying? _Sod it_. "There," she said again, "Now you know. I was almost married. I was imprisoned for standing in a street in a dress. My best friend was raped because, to humans, we are worth less than garbage. It was supposed to be a good day, a fine day…"

Alistair was on the floor with her. His hands took her, brought her close. She tucked her head into the harbor made by his neck and shoulder. He smelled like pine and amber, perhaps a bit like weapon polish and leathery oil. It was such a relief; she could have dissolved into that scent.

"Perhaps it wasn't the perfect day," Alistair admitted, squeezing her hard, "But it was a fine day after all in a way, wasn't it? It brought you to me. That pain, that tragedy, delivered you to me. Is that not worth remembering also?"  
"Of course," Ava sputtered through her tears. "But Shianni… She… It broke her. If I ever see her again I will do whatever it takes, whatever I can to restore her happiness."

"Yes," he said, "You will. But until then I need you to be strong. Blight, remember? Grey Wardens and possible mass extinction and betrayal and regicide and all that lovely, lovely stuff?"

Ava let out a laugh. His hand cupped her chin, smoothing away a rogue tear. "You're right," Ava murmured, "For once."

"There's my girl."

"Woman. There's your _woman_."

"Do you ever stop arguing? I mean _ever_?"

"Nope."

They were still. She thought of her fear, her fear of Alistair. That's what it had been. That somehow he would side with his own kind and not see the horror of what had happened to her and Shianni. But he did see. Of course he did. All that fear, she decided, had been misplaced, when really she should've been grieving for Shianni and pouring her rage into the work that had to be done.

"My turn to tell a secret," Alistair said gently. The tension lifted. They were moving away from grief, Ava could feel it. She welcomed the shift with a quiet smile.

"Let's have it then."

"As you may or may not recall, we endured this thing called the 'Gauntlet,'" Alistair said, making tiny air quotes with one hand. "And at the very end, you took your kit off, squared up your shoulders and strode _laddy-da_ through a fire. Remember?"

"Vividly."

"Right, well, I may or may not have gotten a good long look at your bottom. And I must say, my lady, it is a very fine bottom."

"You're an embarrassment."

"But a totally loveable embarrassment, am I right?"

"Just barely."

"Good enough for me!" Alistair said brightly. He helped Ava sit up. Her tears had run their course and now her face felt sticky and too hot. She looked at his face, at the smirking lips she had kissed many times, at the light beard she had rasped against the palm of her hand, the eyes that killed and enflamed her at the same time…

"We're going to kiss now, aren't we?" Alistair murmured.

"Unavoidable, if you ask me. Not worth fighting it."

They kissed, long and deeply. It was like the end of the day, when the battle was done for a time and she could shrug off the immeasurable weight of plate armor and guts-encrusted swords and muddy boots. It was a relief bordering on pain.

"Know what else?" Alistair added.

"You're really going all the way here, aren't you? I've stopped crying, you know, you can quit trying so hard to cheer me up," Ava replied.

"Fine. Then I won't tell you."

"No, go on. You have to tell me now you said it."

"Only if I get another kiss," Alistair replied quickly, raising a finger in warning.

"Alright, but only on the lips."

"I'm going to ignore that, you hussy, because I'm a gentleman," he muttered, shaking his head. "So, confession number two for this evening is, I have this… Really weird, inexplicable desire to… Um… Oh Maker I can't believe I'm actually admitting this. I must be suicidal."

"Just say it already."

"Well… I suppose I want to… _bathe_ you."

He winced, wrenching his head to the side as if he couldn't bare the shame of saying such a thing.

"You are so weird."

"What? Come on!" he pulled back, flinging his arms wide. "It's… strange, I admit, but when we get back to camp and you're covered head to foot in muck and blood I want to take you somewhere quiet and cool and take all that away. I think maybe it's because you're so small. It's adorable."

Ava looked at him closely. His ears had turned bright red and the flush trickled down into the neck of his shirt.

"You're judging me right now, aren't you? I can feel it, those mean little blue eyes just drilling right into my soul."

She continued staring. She wasn't offended, not at all, on the contrary…

"Why _haven't_ you done that?"

"Sorry?" His eyebrow arched again, just a little.

"Why haven't you told me that before? It sounds so… Nice."

"Oh… Probably because that wasn't at all the reaction I was expecting," Alistair replied calmly. He moved back toward her on the reed carpet and his scent enveloped her again. She didn't know what Wynne was always muttering about. Alistair smelled divine, not like her dog at all. Well, not when Alistair was cleaned up anyway.

"I hope I'm not disturbing." The voice came from outside the tent. It was Leliana. "But the Dalish are getting suspicious. They want to know where the Grey Wardens are."

"With you in a moment!" Ava called back. She cleared her throat, finding there was just the smallest hint of roughness there from crying.

Leliana's footsteps died away in the grass. Ava stood.

"Thank you for understanding," Ava said, adjusting her rumpled tunic. Leliana would give her a sharp look for that. "And for letting me throw a fit. I needed to vent, I guess, and to tell you the truth."

"I'm a bastard prince and you're an alley mouse. We all have our teeny, tiny, potentially horrifying and life-altering idiosyncrasies."

Ava nodded. She didn't say it, but she could feel that something had altered. The ugliness in her past had been making her hold back, keeping her apart. Perhaps she couldn't love him freely until he saw the bad parts of her as well as the good. On a daily basis Alistair saw her as a leader, a paragon of justice and hard sacrifices for the greater good… But those events in her past, shadowy and hurtful, were what taught her the true value of such things.

Alistair took her hand and turned to fully face her. She looked at his eyes, blushing instantaneously. Her face had felt hot before, now she might as well have pitched herself into an Orzamarr forge. It was a bad habit she was trying to break.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look tonight? I do so love you in your crusty old armor, but this… It suits you, too."

"Bastard prince, indeed," Ava murmured, "Emphasis on the prince."

He extended his arm and, for a brief, shining moment she felt like a noblewoman. In battle she felt exalted, more than just an elf or just a mortal, but it was rare for her to feel that way in the mundane ins and outs of the day. Alistair rested his hand over hers, securing her fingers to his forearm, a small gesture that touched her in the pit of her stomach.

"We don't have to stay long," he said. He swallowed raggedly enough for her to hear. "I mean, if you'd like to maybe… Dye a pair of fisherman's floaters." Alistair smiled down at her, for once not blushing. "With me."

So he had felt it too, the change between them.

"That sounds lovely," Ava replied sweetly. "I've been meaning to take up fishing."


End file.
